


Murder House

by DuschaPendragon



Series: The Thirteen Tales [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Death, Haunted Houses, Horrific Deaths, I'm just gonna throw ages out the window, Multi, Murderers, Ramsay is his own warning, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuschaPendragon/pseuds/DuschaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Stark family have moved into a new house to try and move on from the death of Ned. The Starks quickly acquaint themselves with their new neighbours. But there's something not quite right about their new abode, and there's more than a few things that are going bump in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Game of Thrones with a shot of American Horror Story in the system. Of course, there will be more characters and their stories will all be different, but I watched AHS and became inspired!  
> Stark family (with the usual Stark luck) moving into a haunted house. What could possibly go wrong?

“So what do you think?” Sansa looked up at the house and feigned a smile as her mother wrapped an arm about her shoulders, and squeezed her arm tight.  
“It’s nice.” She said. It wasn’t a lie. The house was pretty; a Victorian structure, but not old and decrepit. She had yet to explore the interior, but Robb had promised it had been updated and modernised, though some of the original features had remained. But it wasn’t home.  
“It’ll be weird not living in the country though.” Sansa added, glancing up and down the quiet street. There was only a man walking his dog on the pavement and only one car drove past, but it would still be odd not to see vast, rolling hills outside her window. The air felt different here too. Sansa wasn’t complaining at all, she was quite excited that there would be more people around.  
“You’ll get used to it.” Her mother promised, smiling warmly at her. “This move was the right idea.” Catelyn Stark said with the same sad, wistful voice she always used when she talked about their moving away. Her mother’s eyes seemed to glass over and grew distant, as though she were far away.  
“Mum?”  
“Yes sweetheart?” Catelyn said vaguely.  
“Perhaps you should go check on Bran and Rickon. Make sure Rickon isn’t tearing the place up?” Sansa smiled warmly. Her mother came back to the present and turned to look at her. “Yes, I’ll go do that.” She smiled, her face creasing. Every time Sansa looked at her nowadays she seemed to have gained another wearisome wrinkle. “Such a good girl.” Her mother placed a cold hand on her cheek and Sansa placed hers over it. Her mum found that a source of comfort, she knew. It let her know she was there with her.  
Watching her mum walk away, Sansa’s shoulders slumped and she dropped the smile; her cheeks aching from the effort of it.  
“Boo!” Sansa shrieked and span around to see her older brother Robb grinning down at her. “Made you jump.” He laughed.  
“Wow Robb. You’re so mature.” Sansa rolled her eyes at him and turned back to face the house.  
“Does look kind of spooky though doesn’t it? An old house. Maybe it’s haunted!”  
“Don’t be so stupid!” Sansa muttered, though a shiver went through her. She hated scary things, and now she couldn’t help her mind as it ran wild. Was that a figure she had seen in the window? Had a breeze picked up or did that bush just rustle of its own accord?  
“Bran and Rickon love it already.” Her brother moved to stand beside her, crossing his arms over his chest and seeming to grow a foot taller. The beard he had started to grow made him look older too, even though she constantly mocked it. “And Arya?” Sansa asked. Robb just shrugged and sighed in exasperation. Sansa understood. “Do you think mum likes it?” Sansa asked, her voice filled with concern.  
“Of course she does. The interior could do with some touching up too, some of it’s still a bit 90’s. She always did like interior designing. And it will keep her mind off of dad.” Robb never tiptoed around their father’s death. Sansa hated how he approached it all so matter-of-factly, but she could never bring herself to chastise him for it. They all had their way of dealing with it; her mother went distant, Robb accepted it, Arya argued with everything or locked herself away, Bran tried his best to do what Robb did but would be found sitting in silence up in a tree somewhere, and Rickon was prone to fits of frightening rage. Sansa kept herself so busy dealing with them all that she hadn’t yet worked out how to channel her own grief. It scared her that, even alone at night, she couldn’t bring herself to cry for her father. She wanted to. She had loved him, hadn’t she? Her inability to weep made her feel guilty and retched. Ned Stark had given all his children his love, yet she couldn’t even shed a tear for him.  
“The removal trucks are here. I’ll go deal with them, make sure they haven’t broken anything.” Robb declared, Sansa smiled as he unknowingly puffed himself up to look older and strode off. He was trying so hard to be older than his twenty years. Had their father not died, he would still be at Oxford, starting a life for himself.  
Sansa pushed these thoughts aside. Robb had chosen to leave university, there was no point mourning the loss of their stable future. That was dead and buried with their father. She would have to help them all pick up the pieces now, and that all began with this new house. It would be good for all of them, to leave the dead behind and move on.

The best rooms had all been taken by the time she was inside, but Sansa didn’t mind as long as they were all happy. The room she ended up in was on the second floor and faced out towards the road; large bay windows allowing the light in. The walls were covered in a pretty, light green wall paper. It was still quite a large room, and the large windows made it seem even bigger. All the bedrooms had their own bathrooms too. Bran and Rickon had adjoining rooms on the top floor. Arya had her own room and had disappeared inside it. Sansa had checked on her, but only received a sullen “I’m fine” before being told to get out. Sansa had obliged her, feeling all the worse for it and knowing they would not see her again until dinner time.  
Out of all her siblings, Arya had taken their father’s death and the move the worst. She wasn’t the type to run from something, which was why she despised leaving home so much. Arya looked the most like their father too; with shoulder length brown hair and grey eyes. The rest of them had their mother’s colouring. Except for Jon, but he had remained in Yorkshire. He and Arya had been close, and it had made the move even harder for her, Sansa knew. Arya never wanted to talk about it though and Sansa was at a loss what else to do with her, so she had let her be for now and had committed herself to helping Robb and their mother with the move.  
The kitchen was empty when she went to get herself a glass of water, and the house had fallen quiet as they had all retreated to their rooms to unpack. Sansa could faintly hear heavy rock music coming from Arya’s room, but that was all. As she sipped her water, she looked around the kitchen. A rectangular breakfast bar was in the middle and it was fully kitted out with a fridge, stove and dishwasher. Sansa again wondered how the house had been so cheap.  
She was busy inspecting the stove when the doorbell sounded; a slow, rolling bell chime. It felt odd to not hear the sharp, brisk chimes of their old doorbell. Holding herself a little taller like Robb would have done, Sansa went to answer it. She was sixteen. An adult. She was fully capable of dealing with strangers and taking care of guests. But she still paused to look through the peephole, just to see who she was dealing with.  
A young man stood on their porch. He seemed to be staring right back at her though she knew he couldn’t see her. His hair was dark brown, almost black, his skin pale. His eyes were a queer, ghostly grey. He couldn’t have been much older than her and he was clutching a bunch of flowers in his hands. Sansa chewed her lip, a thing that Arya would have done, but Sansa was feeling nervous. He was rather handsome and the thought of having to speak to him sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.  
When it looked like he was about to ring the doorbell again, Sansa opened the door, her cheeks burning bright red as she wondered how long she had been standing there staring at him. “Hello.” She said, smiling warmly and praying she hadn’t gone red as a beetroot.  
“Hi. Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you.” He smiled back. When he smiled, the cold eyes lit up like fairy lights and his smile made her feel alive.  
“No, not at all.” Breathing was hard to do, as was speaking without stuttering.  
“I’m Ramsay. My mum sent me over with these to welcome you to the neighbourhood.” He held out the flowers for her; sweet smelling lilies. Sansa found it hard to stop her smile from faltering and her heart from breaking. Lilies had been the flowers on her father’s casket. But Ramsay hadn’t known that, and it was unfair to make him feel guilty for it.  
“I’m Sansa. That’s very sweet of you, thank you. Would you like to come in?” She asked, taking the flowers.  
“Sure.” Sansa stepped back to allow him in, closing the door behind him. “The kitchen is this way.”  
“I know.” Ramsay said quickly. Sansa glanced over her shoulder, frowning at him. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t seem rude. I lived here years ago.” Ramsay said, glancing around with nostalgia in his eyes.  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. Feels like only yesterday I was wandering down this very hall.” He grinned, running his hand along a wall.  
“What made you move? If you don’t mind me asking.” Sansa added quickly. Ramsay seemed so easy to talk to, and she was suddenly afraid she might offend him.  
“Parents split up. Turned out dad was gay. Mum walked in to find him being screwed by our postman. And the gardener. There was a plumber watching too I think.” Sansa stared at him, open mouthed, desperately trying to think of something to say next. Ramsay laughed at her expression, making Sansa blush. “You were joking.” She giggled.  
“About the gay part? Yes. About the dad fucking off and abandoning us? No.” He shrugged as though it wasn’t such a terrible thing. Sansa looked away. She wondered if she would have preferred her father and mother to separate. At least he’d be alive.  
“Would you like some tea? Coffee?”  
“No. Thank you.” He smiled warmly at her and Sansa felt herself grow hotter. “I’m sorry if I came across a little sharp.”  
“It’s fine, really.” They stood in silence for a while, Sansa staring at the breakfast table, desperately trying to think of things to say.  
“So how old are you?” He asked her.  
“Sixteen, you?”  
“Seventeen. Nearly eighteen.” He glanced down at his hands. “You going to college?”  
“Yeah. Kingsland College. I start next week.” Sansa paused, worried that the next question might be too forward. “Do you go there?”  
“No.” Ramsay laughed. “No, I was home schooled. Now I’m just…home.” He chuckled at his own joke. Sansa felt bad for him. They’d only just met, and she shouldn’t judge by first impressions, but she couldn’t help but think he was stuck in a rut. He hadn’t furthered his education and had no job, and he was clearly not all that happy at home by how he spoke about his father.  
Sansa was about to ask him more questions in an attempt to keep the conversation going when Ramsay’s head snapped up and the smile died.  
“Are you alright?” She asked.  
“Yeah, I’m fine. Look, I’d better go, I’ll see you around.” He muttered, standing up.  
“Okay, I’ll see you out.”  
“It’s fine, I know the way.” He insisted. Sansa suddenly remembered the flowers and turned to pick them up. “Thank you for the-“ By the time she turned back to face him, he was gone. Sansa frowned and peered down the hallway, but he wasn’t there either. He must have been in a great hurry to leave. Perhaps his mum needed him at home.  
Sansa felt another wave of anxiety when the doorbell rang once more. Placing the lilies back on the kitchen side, Sansa hurried to the door, not bothering to linger at the peephole this time. Her next guest was a middle-aged man; thin of both face and body with a receding hairline. His eyes were a similar grey to that of her last guest. Eerily similar, though they did not hold the same bright energy. He offered what could have been a smile.  
Sansa made him a cup of tea before excusing herself and going to fetch her mother. The man was not someone she wished to handle by herself. It wasn’t that he was an imposing figure, but she doubted they had anything in common to speak of. It made her feel like a little kid, running to fetch the grown up. She forced herself to remain in the kitchen while they spoke, for her mother’s sake.  
“Roose Bolton, I live just down the road.” He informed Catelyn. Sansa busied herself with the lilies Ramsay had brought; filling up a vase with water and arranging them inside. The hair on her arms stood on end when Roose Bolton looked her way. His eyes settled on the lilies, then on her, and he smiled another thin-lipped smile. “Lovely.” His voice was cold as frost.

_***_

_“He’s gone.” He declared once the thin figure was safely on the pavement outside. He turned away from the window before his father could look up and see him watching. Crossing the room, he crouched down and peered beneath the cabinet, remaining a safe distance away from him. “Are you going to come out and play today?” He asked gently. Silence was the only answer given. Ramsay pulled out the ball from his pocket, tossing it from hand to hand and sitting down cross-legged. “I brought you the ball. Your favourite.” He said the words as though it were a dog he was talking to. A dog probably would have been more talkative. Ramsay sighed and rolled the ball along the floor until it disappeared into the darkness beneath the cabinet. That was where it remained. “Being grouchy today?” Ramsay stuck out his bottom lip in mock upset. “Fine.” He shrugged, standing up. “We have more fun without you anyway.”_


	2. Arya

**1958**

_There wasn’t a speck of blood on him as far as he could tell. How was that possible? There had been so much. He could remember every face, and in his head they were still screaming; begging him not to pull the trigger, telling him they weren’t ready for death. That was their problem, not his. Death was ready for them. He was just the messenger._  
_He sat, flinching and wincing at each piercing scream, the gun still beside him, coat hung neatly on the back of his desk chair. All his school books lined up neatly, ordered alphabetically. The record player sat in the corner. He hadn’t used it for so long and a film of dust had settled over the surface. Damon noticed none of it. He could not see his familiar room. Only the faces of those he had saved. Classmates, his brother, his father. He’d left his bitch of a stepmother in the kitchen; bleeding, but not dead. She didn’t deserve it._  
_Their cries rang in his ears, so he didn’t hear the sirens. When the police kicked his door down, he looked up slowly, raising his eyebrows as if he were surprised to see them. Eight men crowded into the room, each aiming their gun at him. There were more men outside. This wasn’t fair. He was outnumbered, and they had armour on. Cowards. What was there to be afraid of?_  
_“Hands behind your head!” The order sounded as though it were from far away. He didn’t move, besides the flinching. “Damon, hands behind your head!” He did move his hands then, but only to bury his face in them. He leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees and he was hunched over, then he released a mournful moan._  
_“Why did you do it Damon?”_  
_The knife cut him as he freed it from his boot. Blood gushed from his calf. There would be a scar there._  
_They were all too happy to pull the triggers, and watch as the monster’s chest was torn apart by bullets._

**Today** _  
_

Stamping out her cigarette, Arya shrugged her backpack onto her shoulder and left the sheltered safety of the bike shed. Robb had dropped her off early so there were hardly any students around. Not that Arya minded all that much.  
“Can I help you?” The receptionist asked, chewing her pen and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. Arya could relate.  
“I’m new. I need my timetable and stuff.” She chewed her lip, wondering if she should have attempted to word what she’d said better.  
“Arya Stark?” She nodded. The woman threw a file onto the desk and returned to her daydreaming and pen-chewing, suggesting she was done talking. Arya, on the other hand, was not. “And how the fuck am I supposed to find my way around this dump by myself?” Arya snapped. The receptionist stared at her in stunned silence, probably wondering if she’d imagined the outburst. Blinking and glancing away, she pulled out a map and slid it across the desk, too shocked to reprimand her for swearing at a member of staff. The receptionist took her hand away quickly as if Arya might bite it off. Arya considered asking her for her full name too, just to freak her out further, but restrained herself. She could save that for another day. Arya had a way of freaking people out nowadays. The way she stared was sometimes enough to get them to back off. She sometimes felt guilty about freaking people out, but most of the time she didn’t intend to. She’d just snap.  
In form, she was introduced to everyone at the front of the class like she was some show poodle. To make matters worse, the teacher pronounced her name wrong, so all the kids now called her Aria. By the end of the hour, she felt like screaming at them all.  
The day only seemed to go downhill from then on. It turned out that she had PE first, but Arya had no kit and there was no way she was going to wear the unwashed things the teachers would find in lost property. It was a shame, because sports and science were the only two subjects Arya was actually good at.  
With nothing to do for an hour, Arya headed back to the bike shed she had been smoking in earlier. She used to smoke with her brother Jon back home. He’d hated it and felt ashamed to give her cigarettes, but gave in anyway, and after their father died it was a good excuse to be alone. Those were the only times they talked about how they felt. Jon had been the only one who seemed to understand, but now she had no one. Sansa tried, but she just didn’t get it. She was always so fucking perfect; handling everything with grace and ease. Arya hadn’t seen her cry once. Even at the funeral, Sansa and Robb had stood beside the hole in the ground; sombre of face and dry eyed. Arya sometimes wondered if they cared about their dad’s death at all.  
“You’re in my shed!” She span around to see a fat kid and a blonde boy standing in the doorway.  
“Sorry. I didn’t realise it had an owner.” Arya scoffed, taking a pull and turning her back on them. The fat kid moved closer. “Don’t touch me!” She growled when he forced her back around to face them.  
“Give me your lunch money.” He ordered, shoving her.  
“No.”  
“Give me your lunch money!”  
“Why? It’s not like you need it. In fact, I’d be doing you a favour if I take _your_ lunch money. Obesity kills you know.” Arya retorted dryly. The blonde boy stared at her wide-eyed. There was only time to blink before the fat boy whacked her around the head and Arya fell to her knees, gasping for air.  
“Lunch money. Now.”  
Arya span around on her knees, swift as a deer, and punched him square in the balls. He doubled over, screaming and wheezing, and Arya took her chance to escape. Sometimes you had to run in order to live and fight another day.

Robb had agreed to let her get the bus home, once he had found the route and had given her instructions on a piece of paper. She hadn’t seen the fat boy again, but a student in her English class had passed on a message from him; that she was in for it tomorrow. “He doesn’t scare me.” She’d growled back. If looks could kill, the messenger would have dropped dead; his body cold before it even hit the floor  
The bus had dropped her off at the end of her road and Arya turned up the volume of her music so that she could pretend not to hear Sansa if she came across her and she tried to ask about the bruise above her left eyebrow. To double her chances of slipping past any humans unnoticed, Arya decided to enter through one of the back doors. She had gone exploring last night, once everyone else was asleep. The house might not be home, but it was pretty neat. There was even a super creepy basement that Arya had considered using as a smoking den. It would be too creepy for Sansa, too useless for Robb, and too quiet for her mother. Bran and Rickon might wander down there, but she could always bribe them with sweets to keep them quiet.  
“Basement’s your best bet if you don’t want them to hear you.” Arya gasped and span around, yanking the headphones out of her ears.  
The boy leant leisurely against one of the oak trees, dressed in a Harrington jacket, white t-shirt, light blue jeans, and chunky black boots. His blonde hair had been gelled up. He kind of reminded her of James Dean, whom Sansa used to have a poster of. Arya remembered being forced to watch as Sansa swooned through his movies.  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He grinned.  
“I don’t get scared.” Arya insisted, tilting her chin up. His grin only widened at her brazenness. “And what is this? Rebel Without a Cause?” The boy’s brows furrowed and he looked down at his outdated clothes. “What are you doing here anyway? You know you’re trespassing, right?” She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms.  
“What can I say? I’m a rebel without a cause.” Arya chewed her lip to stop herself from returning his amused smile. “I know I’m trespassing, it’s just that a friend of mine used to live here.”  
“Who was he? Danny Zuko?” She asked dryly, making him chuckle. He couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, but he was tall for his age.  
“So how do I get to this basement from here then?” Arya asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. He smiled again and moved towards her. His height was imposing, but Arya refused to move away.  
“There was an extension built in the early 50’s. There’s a slight alley between the old building and the new and it ends after about ten feet. The stairway down to the basement is down that alley. Go around the back, look out for the gap between the two buildings. Go down the stairs and turn left, you’ll see the door to the basement then.”  
“What are you? A fucking satnav? Or did you and your friend just have a stoner den down there?” Arya asked with an air of sarcasm.  
“You shouldn’t speak like that to people bigger than you.” He warned.  
“Then I wouldn’t get to speak like that to anyone.” He laughed and held out his hand for her to shake.  
“I’m Damon.” His hand was cold, but he must have been outside for a while.  
“Ar-ya.” She replied, ensuring he wouldn’t get it wrong like everyone at school had.  
“See you around, Ar-ya.” She screwed her face up before laughing, to show she didn’t approve of him mocking her.

Thanks to Damon’s directions, Arya managed to slip under Sansa’s radar and made it to her room unscathed, but there was no escaping dinner time.  
Arya kept her hair down and put a beanie hat on to try and cover the bruise, but her mother ordered her to take it off the moment she sat down and hair thin brown hair was not enough to shield the bruise on its own.  
“Is that a bruise?” Sansa asked, her eyes filled with irritating concern.  
“No.” Arya snapped scathingly.  
“Did someone hit you?” Bran piped up.  
“No.”  
“Are you being bullied?” Robb abandoned his knife and fork and clasped his hands together, frowning at her.  
“No!”  
“Do you want to move schools?” Arya flinched away as her mother reached for her hand.  
“I just fell over okay? I’m fine.” She growled, glaring at each of them. Robb and her mother exchanged worried looks and Sansa offered a sympathetic smile, but Arya ignored them all.  
“Okay, but you must let us know if anything does happen.” Robb ordered sternly. Arya nodded and chewed her lip to prevent herself telling him to stop pretending to be dad.  
They all resumed eating in uneasy silence.  
“One of our neighbours came around today.” Her mum said, clearly desperate to fill the silence.  
“Really? Which one?” Sansa asked, her eyes lighting up with genuine intrigue.  
“Mr Bolton, the gentleman we met on the first day.”  
“Oh, yeah. I remember.” Sansa seemed a little less interested.  
“The poor man, I do feel sorry for him. He was a psychiatrist, but retired after his two sons died. Now he just has an adopted son. The boy gave me quite a fright. Roose spends his days caring for him now, the poor boy seems quite damaged.” Arya could sense how desperate her mother was to make conversation. It angered her beyond belief.  
“Wow mum. He sounds great. I had no idea you were planning on replacing dad so quickly.”  
The table fell so quiet they could hear the leaves rustling on the trees outside. Her mother set her cutlery back onto the table and placed her hands on her lap so they wouldn’t see them trembling. From the end of the table, Rickon started to blubber and they could sense a tantrum brewing, Sansa quickly moved to soothe him.  
“Mum, I…”  
“Go to your room.” Robb ordered. The look he gave her almost caused her to cower away.  
“But I…”  
“Arya. Room. Now.” The feeling of guilt was embodied by her tears and Arya brushed them away angrily before standing up and leaving the table. She hadn’t meant to be so horrible. A part of her longed to apologise; to turn back and run to her mother and cry into her lap and tell her how much she missed dad. And Jon. Jon may have let Robb send her to her room, but he would have come to her after and mussed her hair and listened to what she said. But in this strange house, she was left alone with only her tears and sobs for company.


	3. Catelyn

**1983**

_She was dusting the shelves in his study, humming ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’ to herself. Her voice as sweet as a songbird. So engrossed in her work, she never realised he was behind her until his hand slid over her thigh and up the skirt of her work dress. “Girls just want to have fun huh?” His voice was husky, his breath hot on her neck. He slid a finger underneath one of the hold-up straps, running it up and down. She moaned as he pulled it back and released; the elastic slapping against her skin, leaving a flushed red mark on the pale flesh. He planted kisses on her neck and her head rolled back onto his shoulder. Turning to face him, she allowed him to shove her against the wall. God, how she loved it when he was hungry for her. It made her feel so wanted. So special. This powerful man with his perfect house, his perfect family, his perfect life. And all he wanted was her._  
 _“I need you…right now.” He groaned, thrusting against her, yanking her skirts up. It wasn’t until she felt his rock-hard cock through his trousers that she remembered and her desire suddenly waned._  
 _“Wait.” She gasped, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away slightly. He stepped back, frowning. “Myranda? What is it sweetheart?” He asked, his voice full of concern._  
 _“I…um…I have something to tell you.” Her voice trembled a little. She hated it when she got nervous. She was usually so confidant._  
 _“Well what is it babe?” He asked gently, brushing her pale cheek with his thumb. Myranda gazed into his eyes. His pupils had dilated, and his eyes were filled with lust. He must love her if he wanted her so much. He would be okay with this. He_ had _to be okay with this._  
 _“I’m pregnant.” Myranda confessed._  
 _He took another step back. His gaze fell down to her stomach. His eyes met hers again, and she struggled to tell what it was he was thinking._  
 _“You’re sure?” He was frowning still, and her stomach was filled with butterflies along with his child._  
 _“Yes. I went to the doctor.” Myranda placed a hand over her stomach, massaging it gently, hoping to ease her nerves._  
 _His taught mouth quivered into a warm smile and Myranda’s fears melted away._  
 _“That’s wonderful news!” He exclaimed._  
 _“Really?” Myranda asked, tears blurring her vision._  
 _“Of course. You, beautiful girl, are carrying my child.” He touched her stomach then, and Myranda placed her hand over his._  
 _“But what about your wife?” The nerves suddenly returned, and she glanced over his shoulder as though fearing she would see her mistress standing there._  
 _“That old crone? We’re through. I want to be with you.” He beamed. Myranda beamed back, relishing the feeling of being loved and adored, and worth ending twenty years of marriage for._  
 _“We’ll tell her now, shall we?” He asked, taking her hand._  
 _“Now? She’s home?” Myranda’s eyes grew wide. He had been all over her a few minutes ago. She must truly drive him wild if he was willing to do it with his wife in the house. He must truly love her._  
 _“Yes. Come on, we’ll tell her together.” She threaded her hand through his and allowed him to lead her down the stairs._  
 _“She’s in the kitchen I think.” He said, breaking away from her. The kitchen was empty when they went in, and he looked about, frowning. “Wait here, I’ll go find her.” Myranda just nodded wordlessly, and looked around the kitchen whilst she waited for him to return._  
 _She had cleaned this kitchen so many times. She had scrubbed every inch of it. And now it might be hers, and she could pay someone else to clean it._  
 _Staring out of the window, Myranda began to hum to herself again._  
 _Once again, the humming drowned out his approach._  
 _Myranda gasped as she felt the cold steel bite through her torso. When he twisted the blade, she released an ear-splitting scream that he soon muffled with his hand._  
 _“Did you really think I’d marry you, and ruin all my life’s work? What a stupid whore you are.” He hissed into her ear. Myranda cried out in agony as he shoved her to the ground, her hands clasped over her stomach where the knife had left a hole, and blood gushed through her fingers._  
 _“Please…” She begged, her voice high and childlike. She stared up at the man she’d loved and trusted pleadingly. It was hard to tell what hurt more; the knife he had driven through her stomach or the disdain-filled gaze._  
 _“Please, don’t…” He gritted his teeth and knelt over her. Her eyes bulged and her face turned ugly as his hands tightened around her neck and choked the life from her._

**Today**

Catelyn couldn’t help but feel guilty when she woke to find the house empty. Robb had taken the kids off to their new schools, and she should have been up to go with them. She should have been there to see them off at least, but she couldn’t blame Robb for not waking her up. He’d clearly thought it was for the best, but the house seemed so big and empty without the children around. It felt colder too.  
She made herself a coffee, and began tidying the kitchen. It had been left in a mess, not that she minded. It was a distraction, and she knew only too well what the morning rush could be like. Robb must have been tearing his hair out at the disorganisation. Sansa would have helped too; swallowing her nerves about starting at a new college in order to help her brother. Catelyn was impressed by their efforts. They’d even taken Rickon too, though he was not yet old enough to start school. Catelyn swore to make an effort with dinner that evening, to thank them for their help.

The kitchen was just about tidy when Robb returned home. “You didn’t have to do that.” Robb said, gesturing to the counter tops.  
“It’s the least I could do. Thank you for taking them this morning.” He just smiled weakly and poured himself a cup of coffee. “You look tired.” She said. Robb just sighed and smiled. “You should have woken me up. You can’t handle it all on your own.” She hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, and guilt flooded through her when Robb looked wounded.  
“I had Sansa.” He shrugged wearily.  
“Sansa is sixteen, and should be focusing on her studies. As should you.” Robb tried hard to cover the mournful look he got every time he was reminded of where he should be. She remembered the day they received the letter from Oxford. Sansa had cried, and Catelyn herself had done her best to hide her tears. Ned had put an arm around her before hugging his son tight, and announcing how proud he was of him.  
“Mum?” Catelyn focused in on him again, the happy memory swiftly fading. Robb stared at her, concerned.  
“I’m sorry sweetheart.” She said, moving towards him. Catelyn longed to hug him tight, but instead settled for touching his cheek. “I’m sorry if I sounded harsh. I appreciate what you’re doing, I really do. I just…don’t throw your life away, that’s all.” She smiled at him weakly.  
“I’m not. It’s just on hold for a little while. And I’m sure there is a small law firm nearby that might take me on as an assistant. Once you’re all settled here and everyone is happy, I’ll go back to Oxford. I promise.” He smiled back.  
“I know you will.” Cat replied, feeling the hope warm her through. She planted a kiss in his auburn curls and stepped away quickly. “I should go food shopping. If we order another takeaway Sansa might just insist on living at the gym for the next week.” She laughed.   
“I’ll take Rickon out to the park. It’d do him good. There might be some kids his own age there too that he could make friends with.” Robb stood up and downed the rest of his coffee. Catelyn went to argue but Robb held up a hand to silence her, smiled, and left the kitchen before she could stop him.   
_He’s not my baby boy any more_ Catelyn told herself, but she could see the weight of adulthood was a heavy one on his broad shoulders.

She had overspent. Quite a lot. It was easily done, and she knew the excessive amount of food would please her children, so Catelyn didn’t feel bad for it. If a bowl of ice cream was enough to see them all smile, she would gladly pay for it a hundred times over. Still, the possibility of smiles didn’t make it any easier to carry the shopping bags inside, and Cat struggled to link her fingers through the bag handles. Usually she had some of the children to help.  
“Yes!” She hissed, as she successfully managed to lift six bags all at once.  
“Excuse me.”  
“Heavens!” Catelyn span around, dropping several bags in the process and placing a hand over her thudding heart.   
The man stood on the pavement, his feet only inches off the driveway, head held low. His hair had fallen over his face, but she could still see a pair of large blue eyes stared up at the house. He flinched and twitched uncontrollably.  
“Who are you? What do you want?” She asked angrily, immediately chastising herself for it. He was clearly unstable in some way, she should be trying to help him.  
“You’re going to die in there.” The man’s voice was shaky, his large blue eyes haunting as they continued to stare up at the house. Catelyn could still feel her heart racing. Holding her breath, she followed his gaze and glanced over her shoulder towards the highest window.  
There was no one there, of course.  
“Theon!” Catelyn turned and breathed a sigh of relief as their neighbour, Mr Bolton, hurried across the road towards them. “Mrs Stark.” He smiled his almost-smile at her.  
“Please, call me Catelyn.” She insisted, placing what bags she still had in her hands onto the ground and returning his smile.  
“Theon, it’s time you went home. I’ve put Finding Nemo on for you.” The man turned to face him and seemed to grow smaller with each passing second. After one last glance up at the window, he walked away, twitching and muttering to himself.  
“I’m sorry about him. He’s had a fascination with this house ever since we moved out. Don’t worry, he’ll never trespass. He just stands outside.” Roose informed, watching Theon as he walked away, making sure he made it back to the house safely.  
“Is he your son?” Catelyn asked.  
“Adopted son. He’s rather damaged. His father was…well, nothing short of monstrous. I could give you a psychiatrist’s diagnosis, but I wouldn’t wish to bore you.” Roose Bolton smiled. Catelyn just laughed, unable to think of a reply.  
“Would you like some help with those?”  
“Oh, it’s fine, I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” She insisted, making another attempt to pick up too many shopping bags. Roose let her struggle on her own for a minute.   
“It’s not a bother at all.” He said, swooping in and helping her. Cat just smiled gratefully and moved away quickly, aware of his closeness.  
With his help, they managed to get all shopping bags inside in one go.  
“This must seem odd, me having so much shopping. You only have to cook for two!” She forced herself to laugh.  
“Yes.” Roose said, settling the bags on the counter. “I had more children once.” Catelyn turned around, her face going pale. She hadn’t meant to bring up painful memories. Roose’s gaze had turned distant, much like her own did whenever she thought of Ned.  
“I’m so sorry.” She breathed.  
“Two sons. Both from different mothers, much to my own shame.” He nodded solemnly. Catelyn swallowed the bitter taste of grief, and tried to banish thoughts of her losing any of her children. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to cope.  
“I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.” Roose smiled weakly, grateful for her sympathy.  
“It was many years ago now. And they’re still around, I’m sure. I’m not one for superstition, but sometimes you can just sense them, you know?” Catelyn did know, all too well. Sometimes at night, she’d wake and feel Ned’s solid body beside her, keeping her safe from harm, until she remembered it wasn’t possible.  
“And I have Theon. He moved in with us here about a year before they died.” Catelyn recalled him telling her the other day that he had lived here back in the 90’s. Perhaps he moved out to escape and start anew, just like she had.  
“He was very close with one in particular. It helps me; taking care of him takes my mind off them. God, that sounded terrible didn’t it?”  
“No, no not at all.” Catelyn understood completely.  
They sat in silence for a moment, smiling sadly at one another.  
“Well, I’d best be going. I can’t leave Theon alone for too long. Who knows what he might do to himself!” Roose chuckled, shaking his head and smiling fondly at the thought of his adopted son.  
“Thank you very much for your help.” Catelyn said, leading the way to the front door.  
“It’s no trouble at all. If you need any help just let me know.” Roose replied.  
Something made her pause at the peephole to watch him as he walked away. Once on the pavement, he stopped and turned; looking up at the window Theon had been staring into earlier. He smiled again, perhaps recalling a fond memory of his sons.

Somehow, by some miracle, she managed to hold in her tears until she was alone in her bedroom. That much she was thankful for. The children had seen her cry enough, and it was not fair on them. She was their mother, and she needed to be strong now for their sake.  
But what Arya had said, the viciousness of it, had hurt her. It was more the way she’d said it than the actual words. The hatred in it. It had been her fault that they had all moved away from all that was familiar to them; the home that had been theirs even before Robb was born. Arya had perhaps taken this move and everything that had happened the worst. What hurt more was how much her daughter missed her half-brother; that he had been the only one Arya had confessed her true feelings to. Cat was her mother, and it should have been her shoulder she’d cried on. Not that Catelyn could blame her. She hadn’t been strong enough to deal with her own pain, let alone anyone else’s.   
She’d handled Ned’s death terribly, and wasn’t sure if the children would ever forgive her for it.  
Once her tears had dried, Catelyn went to her dresser and took out some sleeping pills. She hadn’t taken any for some time, as her nights had gotten easier, but now she felt she needed them. Her mind would not stop picturing Arya’s hurt gaze and hate filled words, and if she did not take them she may not sleep at all, and if she did she might dream of her youngest daughter, and all the pain she’d caused her.

Even in the drug induced sleep, Catelyn still dreamed. But it was a sweet dream. Ned was with her, in this strange new bed.  
“Ned? This is just a dream, isn’t it?” She could feel tears burn her eyes as she took in that familiar smile.  
“Yes, dearest Catelyn. And we must make the most of it.” Then his lips were on her, and Catelyn clung to him as though holding him would make him real and he would never leave her side again. “I miss you.” She breathed, as his soft, kind lips moved down onto her neck. “I miss you too Cat.” He replied, looking up at her and smiling again, before returning to work at her collar bone.  
It had been a long time since Catelyn had had a dream like this one. Ever since Ned’s death she hadn’t been able to touch herself without weeping and she would beg for him. Just for him to come back to her, not for his mouth on her like it was now. She knew this was just a dream, but it felt so real. Catelyn spread her legs a little wider for him and sighed with relief as she felt his tongue dip inside her. She could feel his hair tickle her thigh, and the sensation was so real. So vivid. It were almost like it wasn’t a dream at all.  
Catelyn arched her back, feeling all the sweet heat in her body gather between her legs as she neared her climax. Fearing he might disappear once she was finished, she entwined her fingers in his soft hair and tugged gently, glancing down to look at him.  
“Do you mind? You’re messing up my hair.” The tongue stopped lapping and looked up at her. Catelyn’s eyes grew wide with fear and shock. It was not Ned’s face she looked upon. For a start, it was a young woman; her face pale, eyes black and mischievous. Her smile was wicked and cruel. As the girl began to laugh, Catelyn screamed.


	4. Robb

**1914**

_Outside, snow had begun to fall. She could appreciate the beauty of it from where she was sat beside the window, remaining untouched by the cold due to the roaring fire and the blankets the housemaid had insisted she be wrapped up in. When she pressed a hand against her bulging stomach, a different kind of heat spread through her; warming her from head to heal. She smiled fondly. Her gaze moved away from the window to the photograph of the handsome young man that smiled at her from his place on the table beside her._   
_“Here we are, sweet baby.” She cooed, continuing to stroke her stomach with one hand and picking up the photo frame with the other. “That’s your father there.” Smiling sadly, she felt her heart begin to ache. Missing him was a daily agony, and no sense of patriotic duty could dull it. “Isn’t he handsome?” She sighed. He was. His proud smile made his cheeks dimple and his cheeks were straight and pearly white. His auburn hair peeked out from beneath the hat of his uniform in neat curls. His blue gaze shone with energy; excited by the battles to come._   
_“You’ll be just as handsome.” She promised. The child kicked in reply._   
_Even when the bell rang, Jeyne did not bestir herself; too content where she was. The housemaid would see to it for her. It was rare that they ever got any callers at all. People frowned upon men that eloped with girls below their status. Especially if they were already betrothed._   
_But Jeyne cared not for their looks or their whispers. “I care not what they think, because I love you. With all my heart.” He used to say to her any time she felt particularly victimised by others._   
_“Miss?” She turned in her chair slowly. The housemaid stood in the doorway. Her hands trembled and she gripped hold of a telegram tightly._   
_“What is it?” Her voice was barely higher than a whisper. Jeyne’s heart began to pound and the baby writhed and panicked inside her, as if it had some knowledge of the telegram._   
_“A…man, came…he left you…a telegram.” The maid blubbered. Jeyne didn’t move. The blankets were now pinning her down, suffocating her. Her breaths came in sharp, short bursts. “Miss?” The maid moved closer._   
_“Tell me…tell me what it says.” She commanded, though her voice was not strong enough for it. Jeyne listened to the sound of rustling paper; tears already searing her fair cheeks._   
_“The master…he’s…he fell…in action, miss.” Jeyne replied with a mournful wail; the photograph slipping from her fingers. The photo frame shattered on impact; breaking apart like the world around her._   
_She had almost pulled herself together enough to say that that was what he would have wished if he were to die; with a bayonet in his hand, doing his duty for his King. But then the child contorted inside her again and Jeyne screamed, lurching forward, collapsing onto the ground; the shattered glass biting into her hands._   
_“My goodness!” The maid helped her up and Jeyne could feel something hot and wet slide down her thighs. The trail of blood she left behind her as she was helped to the bed made her scream in fear. “Hush now child, I’ll get the doctor.” The maid’s voice was distant, but Jeyne was well aware that she had been left alone._   
_She continued to wail, both in agony and grief. The doctor made good time, but the birth was a difficult one. Partially because the mother did not have the will inside her to fight. Jeyne clung weakly to the maid’s hand, but it was not the hand she wished to hold._   
_He’d promised he’d be home by Christmas. This Christmas just passed. They were going to be a family._   
_“He’ll be here.” She murmured. Smiling, Jeyne closed her eyes. “He’ll be waiting for me.”_

**Today**

Despite how drained he felt, Robb still ran when he heard his mother screaming. He reached her room, cricket bat in hand, unsure if he was actually awake enough to defend anyone. But he would die fighting rather than allowing them to hurt his family.  
Still, he was somewhat relieved to find only his mother in her room, pale of face, eyes wide with fear and shock as though she had seen a ghost. “I’m fine.” She insisted. “Just a bad dream, that was all.” Sansa had arrived shortly after he did, but their mother ordered them both back to bed. Robb was worried about leaving her on her own, but he had no energy left to argue. It had been a busy day, what with his siblings starting at their new schools. He’d had to get up early to sort out breakfasts, make lunches, see to it they all had the correct uniforms and had everything they needed in their school bags. There was little of a break during the day either as he had Rickon to look after. The boy had pushed a kid off of the swings in the park. Fortunately the mother had been understanding. He’d taken him home after that. Robb was supposed to be studying; keeping everything he had been taught at Oxford fresh in his mind for when he tried to get back in. But with Rickon clinging to his trouser leg and demanding his attention, Robb had gotten little work done. He also needed to find a job somewhere, but he couldn’t do that whilst mum was so unstable and Rickon was unattended.  
Robb thanked Sansa for her help, and warned her against doing so in future. “If it had been an intruder, you could have gotten hurt.” He said. Sansa nodded and apologised. Robb wondered if she ever had a negative thought about anyone or anything. Did she ever get frustrated when he treated her like a child? If she did, she did well not to show it.  
With Sansa back in her room, and their mother settled again, Robb’s thoughts turned to his own bed and he dragged his feet back to his room, not even bothering to remove his dressing gown before flopping down on the bed and falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

The next morning was no easier. If anything, knowing what was to come made it harder to get out of bed. But Robb forced himself out of bed, did a couple of stretches to wake himself up, then showered, dressed, and went downstairs to ready the kitchen for war.   
To make things worse, everyone seemed to be in a terrible mood. Sansa was groggy from sleep; her pretty face marred by dark shadows beneath her eyes from her late night. Arya sat in sullen silence with her headphones in, volume turned up so loud they could all hear the pounding rock music. Bran was desperately trying to calm an argumentative Rickon. He had tried to dress him too, resulting in Rickon’s top being inside out. Getting them all out the door was the equivalent of a military operation. Sansa was barely awake enough for his orders to make sense, Arya couldn’t hear him over her music, Bran was chasing Rickon who had his shirt off after they had tried to put it on the right way.  
“FOR GOD’S SAKE CAN YOU ALL JUST GET IN THE BLOODY CAR!” He yelled. Even Arya heard him. Rickon started to cry, but Robb ignored him. He put on his shirt as gently as he could. Robb then took his hand, holding it tight so he couldn’t tear away. “Let’s go.” He muttered. They followed him out the door, pale faced and wide awake after his outburst. Robb immediately felt guilty. Their father had never shouted at them, and he could only recall their mother yelling at him once. He hadn’t meant to shout, he’d just let his fatigue and frustration get the better of him.  
_I’m never having kids_ he lied to himself as he drove them to school, Rickon still wailing in the backseat.

He must have drifted off for a second, but the doorbell startled him and he stood up, glancing around in confusion. Where was Rickon? What time was it? Had his mum got up yet?  
The doorbell rang again; a slow chime that sounded as woozy as his head felt.  
Looking around to try and catch a glimpse of his little brother, Robb went and answered the door, pausing for a moment to wipe any sleep from his eyes.  
A girl stood on the doorstep, perhaps a few years older than Sansa. She had a kind, solemn face. One that looked as though she had experienced too much pain that seemed fair for a girl her age. Her hair was a deep brown, falling over her shoulder in a neat braid. She wore a modest, though old fashioned dress, despite how the day was quite cold due to the onset of autumn.  
“Can I help you?” He asked. For a moment, she just stared at him as though in shock. Robb suddenly wondered if Rickon had drawn on his face while he was asleep. Then her sweet face broke into a pretty smile. “I’m awfully sorry to disturb you sir. It was just that, well, an acquaintance of mine informed me of your arrival in the neighbourhood. He told me you also had a great many children and I wondered if…I’m a…a governess you see.” She stammered endearingly, clutching her hands together tightly.  
“A governess? You mean, like a nanny?”  
“Yes. Yes, I’m a nanny.” Her warm smile was infectious. Robb thought her a little young to be a nanny, but her demeanour was so sophisticated and her smile so gentle, he was sure any child would love her.  
“I was wondering whether or not perhaps you required my services? I was informed you had four children.”  
“They’re my siblings, actually. I don’t look that old do I?” Robb joked, leaning against the door frame.  
“Oh no, not at all. I must apologise, I didn’t mean any offence.” The girl said anxiously. Robb laughed warmly at her worried expression and stepped aside. “Would you like to come in?”  
“Oh…if I may?”  
“Of course. Can I get you a drink or anything? Tea? Coffee?” Robb led the way towards the kitchen.  
“A tea would be marvellous, thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.” The girl looked around with wonder-filled eyes.  
“It’s Robb. And you are?” He continued to smile, amused by her obvious admiration for their home.  
“Jeyne…um…Poole. Jeyne Poole.” She replied. Robb offered her a seat at the breakfast counter while he made them both tea.  
“So you were wondering if I required a nanny?” Robb asked, sipping his tea. He hadn’t missed the way Jeyne stared at him. She was pretty enough, though Robb knew he could not think of her like that if he hired her. He wasn’t sure what his mother would make of hiring some extra help. He didn’t want to insult her, nor undermine her place, but he could truly use the help. Even if it was just for a little while. Hiring a nanny would allow him to focus on studying and work instead of taking care of Rickon.  
“Indeed. I’m able to begin as early as you like, though I do require Sunday’s off. God’s day of rest.” Her hand rested on her chest, where a crucifix hung on a silver chain.  
“Of course. The truth is I could do with the help, it’s just I would have to speak with my mother about it. I need to make sure she’s okay with…you know…a stranger looking after her children.” As if on cue, Catelyn entered the kitchen. Her gaze settled on Jeyne and she turned to look at Robb questioningly. “I thought I heard voices.” She said, smiling a secretive smile that made Robb blush.  
“Mum, this is Jeyne Poole. Jeyne, this is my mother, Catelyn Stark.” Robb looked away from his mother, hoping she hadn’t noticed his cheeks redden.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs Stark.” Jeyne stood up gracefully and offered Catelyn her hand. “And may I say what a lovely home you have.”  
“Thank you Jeyne. The pleasure is all mine.” Robb watched as Jeyne infected her mother with a warm smile. Jeyne then turned to Robb expectantly. “Jeyne came here to offer her services as a nanny.” Catelyn’s smile faltered a little, as Robb knew it would.  
“I do not mean to interfere with the upbringing of your children, Mrs Stark. I will treat them as you see fit and will always inform you on any concerns I have. I am simply here to…relieve stress, as it were.” Robb felt no need to say more.   
“Thank you, but I’m not sure if we can really afford it.”  
“I can work for free perhaps? For a month or so. If you aren’t satisfied with my work then you can release me from your service and I will understand completely. This is your home, for you to run as you see fit Mrs Stark.” That and Jeyne’s winning smile seemed to do the trick. Catelyn warmed again and nodded her consent. “Alright, we’ll have a trial run.” She said. Robb couldn’t help but smile, pleased by their new employee.  
“Wonderful, thank you ever so much. I hope you won’t regret it.” Jeyne looked from Robb to his mother with gleeful excitement. “I’ll start immediately shall I?” He didn’t have the heart to refuse her.  
“Where is Rickon?” He asked, turning to his mother.  
“I thought he was with you?” Catelyn’s smile fell away to concern. They looked around them, suddenly worried about the child’s absence. The house was too quiet.  
“Not to worry!” Jeyne piped up. “I think I heard him in the basement when I came in.”  
“Okay. Well, I’ll go get him…”  
“There is no need to trouble yourself Robb. It might be good for him and I to meet in private. Then he can make his own conclusions about me. It is sometimes important to let a child be independent and make their own judgements, don’t you think?” Jeyne blinked endearingly, waiting for their consent.  
“Very well.” To his surprise, his mother spoke first. Jeyne smiled gratefully, bowed her head to each of them, and practically skipped from the kitchen and down the hall. Robb and Catelyn waited until her footsteps had died down before speaking. “She seems sweet.” Catelyn looked at Robb in that knowing way again.  
“Yes. And you’re sure you don’t mind hiring her?” Robb clasped his hands together, brows furrowing in concern.  
“Of course I do, but I think it for the best. You and Sansa shouldn’t have to shoulder such responsibilities. Besides, now I can help too. Perhaps I could get a job, as long as the children warm to her. You seem to have done so.” Robb blushed again, grinning.  
“She’s charming. But she works for us now. It would be improper.” He said it more to himself than to her.  
“Of course.” Catelyn said, smiling.

_***_

_She followed the childish giggling until she found the boy. He was crouched down, laughing into a dark corner. He held in his hands an old fashioned toy truck and rolled it into the shadows, oblivious to her approach._   
_“Rickon?” She called. The boy’s head snapped up and he stood up sharply. Jeyne knelt down in front of him. “Hello again.” She said, slowly and softly. Rickon just looked at her. The toy car rolled out from the shadows and bumped into her knee. Jeyne picked it up and peered into the dark corner. After a moment, she took hold of Rickon’s hand. “Is he frightening you?” She asked._   
_“No.” The boy shrugged. “He wouldn’t show his face. He said he would if I went into the shadows, but I didn’t want to.”_   
_“Clever boy.” Rickon smiled as she did, pinching his cheek. “Next time he asks you to go into the shadows, or if he scares you, all you need to do is squeeze your eyes shut, like this, and yell ‘go away’, and he will.” Jeyne told him. Rickon just nodded, glancing back towards the shadows as a low growl sounded._   
_“Your mother is worried about you Rickon. Why don’t you go say hello to her? I’ll be right behind you.” Jeyne promised, letting go of his hand and pushing him gently towards the stairs. She waited until he had begun his ascent before turning back to the shadows. Jeyne stood up, brushing off dirt from her dress._   
_“Not him.” She snarled into the darkness. “Not again.” He simply growled a reply. Jeyne did not deign to answer and turned back towards the stairs, leaving him to the darkness he deserved._


	5. Arya

**1958**

_Knife and fork were poised over the beef, waiting for starters orders. He could feel saliva filling his mouth, making his teeth ache with longing for the rich, succulent meat._  
 _The moment his wife sat down, he sank his fork in._  
 _“Shouldn’t we say grace first?” His son looked at him, his eyes pleading and full of an innocence he couldn’t bring himself to trust. Nevertheless, for the sake of avoiding yet another confrontation, he placed his knife and fork back on the table and smiled tightly at the blonde haired youth, glancing at his wife who was watching the boy warily. “Of course Damon.” He sighed. His younger son required no instruction. Beaming at his older brother as though he were the best thing in the world, he held out his hands. They all linked themselves together around the table, though he saw his wife flinch as Damon captured her hand. She had told him countless times. Warned him. But the idea was mad, mad as she was. Yet he was enraptured in her spell; bewitched by her red beauty._  
 _“Dear lord, we thank you for the animal carcass you have seen fit to bless us with. I pray for forgiveness for all our worthless souls…”_  
 _“Damon.”_  
 _“…for all our worthless souls, as such fair was obtained through sinful means.”_  
 _“Damon.” He growled again in warning._  
 _“I also pray for forgiveness on the behalf of the butcher, who gave into the sin of lust the moment my whore of a stepmother flashed her tits and the fat fuck came in his pants.”_  
 _“Damon, enough.”_  
 _“While I’m at it, I might as well pray for the damned souls of the postman, the milkman, and of course your faithful servant, the vicar, all of whom the red bitch has been screwing…”_  
 _“That’s quite enough!” He roared._  
 _“…all underneath my fool of a father’s nose, which is shoved so far up her arse he can’t smell the adultery through the scent of her shit.”_  
 _He tore his hand away._  
 _“Amen!” His youngest son grinned. Damon smiled back at him warmly._  
 _“What on earth is the matter with you? What is it that your mother and I have done to warrant such behaviour?” Damon’s smile faded and his face turned thunderous as he turned to face his father._  
 _“She isn’t my mother. I don’t want her. I don’t need her. I have a mother.” Damon hissed angrily._  
 _Exasperated, he put his head in his hands. “For heaven’s sake Damon. Do you insist on driving that dagger through me again and again? You know how much it pains me, but perhaps that is what you want. Your mother died in 1945, during an air raid, when your brother was just a babe in arms and you were…”_  
 _“I know!” Damon slammed his fist down on the table, fixing his father with crazed eyes. “You don’t get it do you? I know! She may not be my real mother, but she’s more than a mother than that bitch could ever be.” His voice was low and threatening. Damon no longer allowed himself to show his grief._  
 _“I understand Damon.” They were both surprised to hear her speak. “And you should look to your own sins. Your years with those damned souls has weakened you. You are consumed by the darkness. I can see it in your eyes.”_  
 _“Bullshit!” His eldest son stood up abruptly, sending his chair toppling backwards. Damon appeared oblivious as it crashed to the ground. He loomed over her, shaking with a toxic mixture of adrenaline and rage._  
 _“You understand nothing. And I will_ never _be your son.”_  
 _Melisandre looked away from him, no longer able to keep looking into the maddened eyes. They each stared into nothingness as they listened to him march from the room, flinching as he slammed the door leading down to the basement._

**Today**

He squealed like a pig as she pressed the cigarette butt into his arm, burning the flesh. The fat boy rolled off of her, screaming for help. But Arya wasn’t done yet. The moment he was off her, she stood up and kicked him in the ribs. He squealed again and Arya dealt another blow to the ribcage just to shut him up. All around them, students had gathered and were chanting ‘fight, fight, fight’ at them. As if they needed any encouragement. Unfortunately for Arya, the fat boy known bizarrely as Hot Pie, had back up. Before she could deliver any more kicks, his friend grabbed her by the arms and yanked her back until she fell ungracefully on her arse, then it was their turn to kick.  
“Lunch money!” Hot Pie demanded.  
“Speaking of lunch, I am rather hungry.” Arya sneered. Mr Piggy squealed again as she sank her teeth into his chubby leg.  
“Arya Stark!” The chanting ceased and the crowd of students dispersed like a panicked shoal of fish when danger was nearby. Arya sat back down, wincing into the sunlight to see her design and technology teacher, Miss Mordane, glaring down at her. Arya released a groan as Hot Pie continued to whimper beside her. “Headmistresses office now.” The teacher barked sharply. Arya was about to argue about how unfair it was that she was being sent there and Hot Pie wasn’t, but Miss Mordane turned away before she could say anything.  
“You’re in the shit now Stark.” Lommy smirked. Arya spat in his face, then scurried away before they could attack her again.

“It’s complete bullshit! I don’t even start the fights! I’m just minding my own business, smoking in the bike shed, and the fat fuck comes in demanding I give him my lunch money. As if he needs it!” She paced up and down her room angrily.  
“School sucks.” Damon admitted, spinning around mindlessly in her desk chair.  
“And then the headmistress calls up my mum to tell her to come and get me. She says I’m getting into fights and then gives this bullshit lecture about bullying and how it won’t be tolerated at school. Like _I’m_ the one doing the bullying. Can you believe it?”  
“It’s inexplicable.”  
“So now the only thing mum and I actually talk about is how I shouldn’t be picking on people. She thinks I’m bullying him because of his weight. Like I give a shit! She only goes on about it so we can tiptoe around the fact she’s got some other guy in her life now, even though it’s way too soon after dad.” Arya immediately felt bad for saying it, but she was just so _angry_.  
“Parents suck.” Damon stopped spinning in the chair and gripped the arm rests tightly. “So what are you going to do about this Hot Pie kid? You can’t just let him walk all over you like that.” Arya ceased pacing and crossed her legs, slumping down onto the rug with a dull thud.  
“I know.” She muttered. “What do you suggest?”  
After her outburst at dinner the other night, things with herself and her family had only gotten worse. She and her mother rarely spoke unless it was about the whole bullying thing. Sansa was just polite and courteous. Robb was being all adult, always coming up with excuses as to why he couldn’t talk. Bran and Rickon were distracted by their new nanny, who seemed nice enough, but a little too perfect for Arya’s taste. Jeyne seemed to get on well with everyone, and Arya didn’t mind her being around except for the fact Bran and Rickon always wanted to play with her instead of Arya. She called Jon regularly, but he had just started working as a police officer back home, and so didn’t have much time to talk. The only person who seemed to actually want to listen to Arya was Damon. She’d found him hanging around outside again the day after they met and, while he seemed a little weird, they’d spent quite a bit of time together. Damon smoked, and so they would share a fag in the basement. After a few days Arya invited him upstairs to listen to music. Their tastes were very different, but Damon was open to listening to new things. His main love was fifties music, but he listened to Nirvana as well, and that was good enough for Arya. What’s more, he and Arya shared the same troubles; his mother had died, his father had remarried, he hated school. When she was hanging out with Damon, their new house didn’t seem quite so bad.  
“We could kill him.” Damon suggested, his face completely serious. Arya burst out laughing. “That’s a bit extreme.” She chuckled. Damon shrugged. “So you really want him to leave you alone? Besides killing him, there’s only one other thing you can do.”  
Arya leaned forward, hanging onto his every word. Damon leaned forward too, smiling madly, his eyes wide and crazed.  
“Scare him.”

Arya would have been lying if she’d said she didn’t think his plan was madness. There was small chance that it would actually work, no matter how many times Damon claimed he and his friend used to use the same plan all the time when his friend lived here.  
To her surprise, it seemed to work almost immediately. Arya had a small group of people she hung around with at school. She wouldn’t call them friends exactly, but they were people to make small talk with and sit next to in class and at lunch. None of them shared any interests except for the fact they struggled to make friends. They were a pack of lone wolves; outcasts too weak or dangerous for the mainstream pack. They listened, or at least pretended to, as she slipped in remarks on graphic details about the basement in her house, like how there was a back door leading down into it, and about how this Saturday her mum was out and she was just going to chill down there and watch horror films. They all stopped eating when she mentioned she might smoke a bit of weed as well.  
Arya tried to bring the subject up as often as possible, and slyly glance over her shoulder to make sure the fat boy was listening. He and his friend always seemed to be nearby nowadays, and always sniggered darkly when she caught them watching her. Arya had to chew her lip to stop herself from smiling.

Saturday came, but there was no sign of Damon anywhere. He’d said all she’d needed to do was get them into the basement, and he’d take care of the rest. But he wasn’t in the basement, nor was he hanging around outside. Arya was kicking herself for being too awkward to ask for his number.  
At seven o’clock, when the sky had begun to darken, Arya headed down to the basement and went to the back door to check it was unlocked, ready for her intruders. Arya span around as she heard a strange hissing noise behind her. “Hello?” She called out, moving forward, glancing around. The only spot she couldn’t see was a dark corner, and Arya eyed it warily. Did something just move in that corner? She waited a moment, steadying her breathing. “Damon?” She muttered, raising an eyebrow.  
“Yes?”  
“Shit!” Arya span back around at the sound of his voice behind her. He loomed over her, grinning at her shocked expression. “You asshole!” She laughed, shoving him back and glancing over her shoulder. “I thought you were…I could have sworn it was you…over there, in that corner.”  
“Are you afraid?” He asked, his grin faltering.  
“I’m not afraid of anything. It was probably just my imagination.” Arya shrugged. Damon stared at her intently for a moment and Arya shifted nervously from foot to foot, suddenly aware of how close he was.   
“You’re late.” She said, unable to think of anything else to say. “I don’t even know what the plan is.” Arya stepped back to put more space between them, though a part of her wished she’d remained where she was.  
“You got a TV? One we can move down here?” Damon asked.  
“Yeah.”  
“Good. We’ll need some entertainment while we wait. Grab some horror films too.” His grin returned and Arya smiled back. She actually loved horror films and was certain she could freak Damon out with her collection.  
“Sure thing.” She nodded, grinning darkly.  
“Grab some food too! I’m starving. I’ll set things up here.” He turned away and hurried into one of the adjoining rooms. Arya couldn’t stop herself smiling as she hurried to begin her task.

Hours later, the two teens were lying side by side on a blanket and some cushions. They were on their second horror film now, Dead Silence, and both kept slyly checking to see who was more scared. Arya’s lip was raw from where she had been chewing it so much to prevent herself from smiling.  
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Damon asked, stuffing some popcorn into his mouth, eyes transfixed on the telly.  
“Not sure. I guess I think seeing is believing, and I haven’t seen a ghost yet. But I’m open to options. What about you?”  
Damon was silent for a moment and he stared down into his bowl of popcorn. “I…I have…”  
“Shh.” Arya slapped his arm. “Did you hear that?” They paused the film quickly and listened. From outside they could hear hushed voices.  
“You scout for me. I’ll go in and scare the bitch.” Arya recognised Hot Pie’s voice.  
“That’s him.” She muttered. Damon nodded and they both leapt up, pressing play.   
“The TV will lead him into this room. I need you to go and turn off all the lights. Turn them back on when I tell you, and stay quiet.” He grinned wickedly and seemed to melt into the shadows. Arya felt nervous excitement bubble up in her stomach as she wondered what he was going to do.  
Biting her fist to stop her nervous laughter, she listened as the door to the basement opened and closed noisily. Hot Pie seemed to shuffle forwards, unable to go any faster due to the pitch black basement. Holding her breath, Arya placed her finger on the light switch, ready for Damon’s orders. The shuffling of feet stopped and she sensed he was just around the corner.  
“Here’s Johnny!” Hot Pie roared, leaping out from behind the wall. Arya pressed herself back into the darkness, biting down harder on her fist. She wished she had a picture so she could capture the look on his face. He stared about in confusion at the empty room; the blanket with abandoned bowls of popcorn, the movie still playing. She could hear him whimper and see him tremble. Then he seemed to grow angry with himself. He moved forwards, swearing as he stepped on a packet of crisps.  
“Lights.” She heard Damon whisper, as though he were right behind her. Arya flicked the switched and frowned. He was sat at the far end of the room, smirking darkly at Hot Pie. Had she imagined his voice? Had he actually just called out to her? Yeah, that had to be it.  
“Welcome to hell, you fat fuck.” Damon chuckled.  
“What the-“  
“Arya, get the lights.” Arya just nodded and flicked the switch again, plunging the three of them into darkness. The glare from the TV was all the light they had, until the lights overhead began to flicker on and off wildly. Even the TV was switching on and off spasmodically, allowing glimpses of Mary Shaw as she tore out the tongue of another victim. The basement filled with laughter and Arya watched in stunned silence. Damon could only be seen for a moment before the darkness would consume him again. The flickering basement lights were like the strobe lighting Arya had seen at a night club Jon had smuggled her into one time. It made all Damon’s movements distorted as he rocked back and forth, cackling madly.  
And then, as the lights continued to flicker on and off, Damon was gone. In his place was something monstrous. Its stench filled up the room and made Arya want to vomit. He was ugly and knarled, his skin creased and dry, flaking off him as he rocked back and forth. Hot Pie was screaming and Arya could just about make out the scent of piss over the reeking creature. As the lights flashed, she saw him fly through the air and knock Hot Pie to the floor.  
_It’s just Damon. He must have a costume or something._  
But she knew it wasn’t Damon, because Damon was behind her. Arya span around to see him staring at the creature as he attacked. His face was filled with fear, but he looked at her and forced himself to smile. Arya glanced back at the creature, then back at Damon. How was this possible? If Damon was with her, then what the fuck was attacking Hot Pie? Arya’s screams joined that of the fat boy’s and she slammed her hand down on the light switch.  
Hot Pie continued to writhe and scream on the floor, trying to fend off an invisible enemy.  
Damon was sat in the chair, his legs slung over the arm rests nonchalantly. As she caught his gaze, he smiled at her.  
“Mummy!” Hot Pie screamed, scrambling to his feet and fleeing before Arya could stop him. Blood gushed from his cheek from where the creature had bitten him.  
“Well he won’t be bothering you anymore.” Damon grinned. Arya stared at him, dumbfounded, her mouth gaping open. When her senses came back to her, she balled her hands into fists. “What the fuck was that?”  
“What was what?” Damon frowned, but she didn’t trust the mock innocence.  
“That…the thing…the creature…” She stammered.  
“I’ll try not to take offence. It was me.”  
“No. No it wasn’t, you were stood right behind me!” Arya insisted.  
“That’s crazy!” Damon stood up and moved towards her. Arya backed away, tears stinging her eyes. “Come on Arya, this is what you wanted right? The kid fucking pissed himself!” He was laughing madly again.  
“Get away from me you psycho! I don’t ever want to talk to you again!” She yelled at him, turning and running away, too scared to turn and see if he was behind her.

_***_

_“You said you weren’t afraid of anything!” Damon roared, trembling with rage and fear. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want to be left alone._   
_“Aw, poor baby. Did your girlfriend dump you?” Myranda cooed, sauntering out from the shadows._   
_“Leave me alone.” He growled, shrugging her off as she ran a pale hand over his shoulder, stroking his chest._   
_“Oh come on. I can cheer you up. I’ll even let you fuck my stab wound if you want?” She looked up at him through her lashes, turning the corners of her mouth down in mock sadness and sticking out her bottom lip. Damon squeezed his eyes shut. “Go away!” He yelled. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. Damon whimpered pitifully in the darkness, hugging himself tightly and bowing his head as though he were a small child._   
_“Hush, my sweet.” He raised his head at the sound of her soft voice and she brushed away his tears, kissing his salt-stained cheeks._   
_“Mother.” He whimpered._   
_Jeyne smiled sweetly and opened her arms, allowing him to come to her. He was taller than he had been when he was younger, and embraces had been few and far between since he had been a child, but now he rested his head on her shoulder, and remained there until the crying ceased.  
 _


	6. Sansa

_She was staring out of the window when he entered. If he was honest, he hadn’t expected to find her there. At least not yet. He hadn’t realised she’d noticed. He’d wanted to keep Sansa to himself just for a little while. Never mind, at least her discovery allowed for some fun._  
 _“Hm, I do like these short-shorts girls wear nowadays.” He hummed into her ear, slipping his arms around her slim waist. “Hold ups are just so…” He ran a hand down and pulled at the strap, making it smack against her pale thigh. “Eighties.” He finished with a smirk. Myranda tried to shrug him off, but Ramsay’s grip only tightened and she was forced to continue watching Sansa as she warmed up for her run._  
 _“She’s very pretty isn’t she?” He whispered, chuckling when he heard Myranda growl._  
 _“If you want I can see to it she has a stab wound for you to fuck.” She spat. Ramsay caught her around the throat and turned her around to face him, slamming her against the wall. “Touch her and I’ll make your afterlife hell.” He snarled._  
 _“It already is.” Myranda croaked miserably._  
 _“Even so, stick to your old crone. Leave Sansa to me.” He warned, returning to the window to watch the red head as she stretched._  
 _“The old crone has grown rather boring. There’s plenty more meat in the house. Think I’ll start with that dishy older brother.” Ramsay rolled his eyes as she batted her eyelashes and tilted her air-filled head as though deep in thought._  
 _“Like he’d go for a dirty scrubber like you. What exactly are you going to tell him when he sees that hole in your stomach?” Ramsay’s lips twisted into an amused smirk._  
 _“In my experience, men can rarely wait for me to get my clothes off.” He chuckled then, which he knew she had not been expecting. “What’s so funny?” She snapped as he continued to laugh._  
 _“Look at her. She’s practically dancing on your grave.” He cackled. It was true. Sansa’s warm up routine was being performed right on the spot where she had been carelessly buried. “Now that_ is _funny!”_  
 _“Yeah Ramsay, you really do put the fun into funeral.” Myranda spat. He turned just in time to see her pick up Sansa’s nail scissors. In one smooth movement, she plunged the blade into his shoulder. “Ow! Fuck! You little…” Before he could finish, Myranda was already gone, leaving him to yank the scissors out by himself. “Stupid bitch.” He grumbled, rubbing the sore patch._

_***_

Her college timetable wasn’t as good as the one at her old school had been. For a start, she was expected to go in every weekday, then there was the fact she was in all day Monday and Friday, and her lessons were all in the morning for the rest of the days. It meant she couldn’t help Robb out as much as she felt she needed to, as she had to get herself ready in the mornings, though things were definitely easier now with Jeyne around. Even Rickon had calmed down and was less prone to his violent outbursts. The nanny didn’t tread on any toes either, not even their mother’s even though she was helping to take care of the children. Sansa liked her a lot. She could only have been a few years older than Sansa, but she still treated her like an adult, which Sansa appreciated.  
Despite her timetable, Sansa was enjoying college. Her subjects (textiles, dance, and English literature) were all taught well, and the teachers were better than her old ones too if she was honest. They seemed to be a lot more modern in their thinking. She’d made some friends too, and had already been out on a shopping trip with them.  
It felt as though her life was starting to get back to normal in this new place, which Sansa was thoroughly glad for. She’d even started to go running again whenever she could, and returned from a run one afternoon to find the house empty. Jeyne was in the garden playing with Rickon.  
“Your brother went for that job interview in town. He’s picking Bran up from school on his way back, Arya’s getting the bus. Your mother has gone to buy some paint to redecorate the lounge.” Jeyne told her after she asked where everyone was. “I do hope she doesn’t get anything too bright. These modern styles can really ruin a house’s character.” The nanny added, her brows furrowing with concern.  
“You can rely on my mum. She has good taste, I think.” Sansa laughed. “I’m going to shower, then I’ll do some homework. Let me know if you need a hand with anything.” Sansa told her. Jeyne smiled and thanked her before returning to play with her charge.  
Sansa had just entered the house when she heard a strange scratching sound. Her first thought was rats, but then there came a whining sound made by a far larger animal.  
“Robb? Mum? You home?” There was no human reply, only the ceaseless sound of claws against wood. The rooms on the ground floor were all connected by archways instead of doors, and Sansa could see no animals around. Spurred by her own curiosity, she followed her ears. The scratching only grew louder and more insistent as she neared the stairs. Sansa noticed the door down to the basement was closed, and seemed to be where the sound was coming from. As she drew closer, she heard a low growl. Was that a _dog_? It would be typical for Arya to find a stray on the way home from school and coax it home, or perhaps she had fed it and it had come looking for more food. There was a way into the basement from outside; Arya used it to sneak in once she was finished smoking. Perhaps she had forgotten to close the door?  
Sansa inched ever closer, and stretched out a hand towards the doorknob. As she did so, the dog barked from beyond the door. She certainly wasn’t imagining things. Then another bark joined the first. Then another. Then another. There was more than one down there, four at the very least! Sansa’s hand faltered and she released a fearful whimper as the door began to rattle and give a little as the beasts flung themselves against it. They could smell her. Any moment they could burst through the door, and then…  
“Sansa?”  
“Oh my god!” She cried, spinning around. The house was silent now, the door behind her firmly shut and still. “Ramsay, what…”  
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He chuckled, though his pale eyes were filled with concern.  
“Um, no…I just…I could have sworn…I heard a dog down there!” She felt stupid the moment she said it. Ramsay just smiled at her and laughed. “I know it sounds stupid, but there was definitely something down there!” Sansa insisted.  
“Okay, okay,” He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You want me to check it out for you?” Yes. She did. But that would only prove that she had imagined the whole thing, and she didn’t want to look any more foolish than she did already. “It’s fine. I probably just imagined it.” Sansa forced herself to laugh it off, but Ramsay continued to look at her questioningly. She needed to bring the conversation back around to him. She didn’t want him thinking she was crazy.  
“How…how did you get in here?” She asked. Her mother would have locked the front door for sure, even if Jeyne was around. Ramsay frowned at her and laughed again. “You left the back door open.” He stated incredulously. “I did knock, but you were too busy hearing dogs.” Sansa had to force herself to laugh again. The truth was that she didn’t find it very funny, the whole thing had left her more than a little shaken.  
“Would you like a cup of tea?” She asked, trying desperately to put her rationale mind back together.  
“I’d kill for one, thanks.” He said, stepping aside and allowing her to lead the way to the kitchen. Sansa blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d forgotten how handsome he was, and here she was in her running clothes. Her face was probably still flushed too, though Ramsay was clearly too much of a gentleman to notice. “Let’s hope you can stick around a little longer this time.” She smiled at him brightly.  
“Huh?”  
“Well, when we met you just sort of disappeared, you know, when our other neighbour arrived?” Sansa reminded him over her shoulder as she went.  
“Oh yeah. Well, I’ve been told to avoid that guy.” He said the words a little darkly, and it worried her a bit. Sansa knew her mother had seen the man a few times. “How did you know it was him?”  
“People around here talk about him. I think I know enough to know that if he hears of a widow with a pretty daughter, he’s bound to come around sooner or later. Like a moth to a flame.” Sansa turned on him then, her voice strained with concern and, surprisingly, anger.  
“What exactly are you implying?” She asked, putting her hands on her hips. “I hear the man has given up most of his life to take care of his disabled son, whom he adopted shortly before the death of his own two sons. Village gossip can be amusing, but not when it attacks people just trying to live their lives and pick up the pieces of what’s left.” For half a heartbeat, Sansa thought Ramsay might hit her. He had looked so _angry_. Then the moment was gone, replaced instead by a look of guilt. “I’m so sorry Sansa. I get it from my mum, she’s the sort of person who gossips a lot, you know? You’re absolutely right. We shouldn’t mock Mr Bolton and his…disabled son. I hope you can forgive me for what I said?” He looked so ashamed of himself. He couldn’t even meet her gaze.  
Sansa’s hands fell away from her hips. “I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. You were only repeating what you’ve been told. I just think it’s important we make our own opinion on people after we’ve gotten to know them a little.” Ramsay looked up at her and smiled that handsome smile.  
“You’re right of course. You have a good heart Sansa, I admire that.” She couldn’t help but smile herself then, and had to turn away to hide the blush creeping into her cheeks.

They were still talking when her mum had come home, and Sansa had had to awkwardly introduce them while her mum was giving her that knowing smile. She prayed Ramsay hadn’t spotted it, but tried to get him away from her as soon as possible. Fortunately, Ramsay said he needed to be at the local learning centre for people with mental and physical disabilities in an hour for voluntary work.  
“I didn’t know you did voluntary work?” Sansa had said, the surprise evident on her face.  
“I help the poor tormented souls as best I can.” He’d chuckled. “Perhaps I could call around again though, some other time.”  
Sansa had, of course, readily agreed, despite feeling her mother’s knowing gaze on her.  
To avoid any confrontation from her mother as soon as Ramsay was out the door, Sansa made her excuses and hurried off to her room for a shower, her mind still recalling that cute smile and the curious eyes.  
Wrapping a towel around herself, Sansa smiled when she felt that warm, fuzzy feeling she got whenever she used to get crushes. It made her blush too, and she turned to the mirror to check how red she’d become. Sansa stared at the glass; eyes wide, heart hammering in her chest. The steam from her shower had caused the glass to mist over, the film of condensed steam only broken by the ominous _10_ written by an unseen hand.


	7. Robb

“No word yet?” Jeyne asked, making him jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled apologetically and wet to get two glasses and a plastic cup out of the cupboard, filling them with juice.  
“Nope. Nothing.” Robb muttered miserably, tossing his mobile from hand to hand. Finding a job was proving harder than expected. A lot of law firms weren’t keen on hiring a university drop out, even if they had dropped out of Oxford. “I’m sure I’ll hear soon.” He assured himself.  
“I’m certain of it.” Jeyne’s words seemed to make the weight of worry on his shoulders a bit lighter. He smiled gratefully. “Where’s Rickon?” Robb asked, knowing how much Jeyne liked talking about her charge.  
“Upstairs, building with those brick things. Lego, is it? I think he was trying to build some space vehicle.” Robb laughed. Their nanny was so young, yet so old fashioned. “Juice?” She handed him a glass.  
“You’ve done wonders with him. I can’t thank you enough for that Jeyne.” He admitted, staring awkwardly into his cup to avoid her gaze. It was true that Rickon had calmed considerably since they’d hired Jeyne, and it made all their lives a little easier. Bran liked her too, and spent less time brooding in trees nowadays.  
“Time is the real healer. Nothing is worse for a child than to lose either parent.” A sadness seemed to sweep over her then, and Robb assumed those words had a deeper meaning. He didn’t wish to pry into her private life though.  
“It hasn’t been easy.” He said. They both exchanged sad smiles, suddenly aware that both had suffered. Neither knew the true extent of the others suffering, but just knowing the other understood was a comfort in itself.  
“I’d better get back to Rickon.” Jeyne said, turning away quickly, but not before Robb glimpsed her blushing cheeks. Smiling to himself, he watched her go without comment.  
_She’s the nanny_ Robb reminded himself, trying to prevent his own cheeks from flushing. Fortunately, before he could spare another thought about Jeyne’s pretty face and sweet smile, the doorbell rang. Robb rushed to answer it.  
“Hi.” The girl on his doorstep trilled. Robb’s mouth gaped open a little.  
Painted red lips were drawn up into a sultry smile. A pale, beautiful face was framed by soft, brown hair, perfectly curled. Her eyes were what really captured him; they drew him in with the promise of trouble and adventure.  
“I…um…err…hi?” Robb stammered, unable to stop the blood from rushing to his cheeks this time.  
“You must be Robb. I’m Myranda.”  
“Um…nice to meet you.” He said, trying to lean nonchalantly against the doorframe and going red when he realised it must look as awkward and uncomfortable as it felt.  
“Mind if I come in?” Myranda inquired. Robb instantly wanted to hit himself for being so stupid and not inviting her in sooner.  
“Sure, of course, come in.” He said, moving out of her way. Myranda wore a black trench coat that covered her from neck to knee. She wore tights over her slim legs and sleek black heels on her feet, but didn’t seem uncomfortable walking in them. She looked like a model that had walked straight out of one of Sansa’s magazines.  
“How…err…how can I help you?” He stuttered. Myranda laughed; the sound was like music to his ears. “I was just seeking work.”  
“Seeking work?” Robb’s eyes widened and he looked her up and down again. _Shit_.  
“Yes, I’m a housemaid.”  
“A house-? A housemaid! Good…I mean, cool.” Robb almost sighed with relief. “Look it’s good of you to enquire and everything, but I don’t think-“  
“Are you redecorating?” She cut in, looking around.  
“Huh?”  
“I can smell the paint.” Myranda giggled, striding into the lounge which their mother had begun redecorating that very morning until she realised she didn’t have enough paint and was out getting more.  
“Yes, I always did think this room could do with an upgrade. And what a great colour! Your mum has the _best_ taste.” She gushed.  
“You _always_ thought?” Robb repeated, frowning.  
“Oh, yeah. I worked for the previous owners. This house and I are old friends. You’ve really got to take care of it, you know? It has a personality.” Without warning, Myranda went down on all fours and pressed her nose to the wooden floorboards. Robb looked away, but not before glimpsing the hold-ups and bright red panties underneath her skirt. He was fighting off the urge to blush until Myranda _hummed_ into the wood and made his face turn the shade of beetroot.  
“Do you know what floor cleaner your mum uses?”  
Yes. Robb did know that. And it was awkwardly apt for his current situation.  
“Bona, I think…um…why?”  
Myranda tutted. “That was naughty of her. That’ll take the varnish off like no tomorrow.” She told him, shaking her head. “I have my own formula that works wonders.”  
“Okay, what is it?” Robb didn’t know anything about cleaning floors, he just wanted to keep the woman distracted so he didn’t notice that his face had turned the same shade as her underwear. Myranda stood up and smiled a wicked smile. “If you hire me you’ll find out.” How did she manage to make floor cleaner sound sexy? By now Robb was certain all the blood in his body had rushed to his cheeks.   
“I don’t know, it’s not really my place to hire a maid, you know?” He swallowed nervously, trying not to notice her trench coat had undone itself a little, allowing a view of her cleavage.  
“A mummy’s boy are you?” Myranda laughed.  
“No!” He insisted. Myranda began to move towards him then. “You’re the man of the house now. You don’t need your mother telling you what to do. You can hire who you want, and you want me, don’t you?”  
_Yes._  
“I’m not sure, how much do you work for?” He asked, taking a step back. If she moved any closer, he wouldn’t be able to think straight.  
“You can see how good I am, then we’ll base payment on that.” Her tone was promising.   
_She’d be good…she’d be really, really good.  
_ “Hours?” Robb was unable to say more than one word. His throat was as dry as sand.  
“I take Thursdays off. Want to know why?” She raised a brow suggestively.  
_Yes._  
“No, Thursdays off are fine.” She was still moving closer, and Robb continued inching back.  
“So am I hired?” Her mischievous, enchanting eyes lit up with triumph.  
“Yes…yes you’re hired.” Robb gave in, taking another step back. He had no idea the wall was so close. His back hit it first and he felt something wet and sticky cover the fabric. “Eurgh!” Robb exclaimed.  
“The paint!” Myranda gasped. “You should take it off, I can wash it and it’ll be good as new.” Before Robb could protest, she had hold of the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it off over his head in one smooth movement. Somehow it was possible for Robb to turn redder as Myranda took in his torso with her hungry eyes. “I’ll start right away.” She said to his abs.  
Robb just watched her go; mouth gaping and eyes trained on the hold-ups he could glimpse when she took off her coat, revealing a traditional maids outfit.  
“Robb?” He turned to see Jeyne stood at the other end of the lounge, her face pale and pinched with concern. “What’s going on?”  
“I think…” He paused to laugh in disbelief. “I think I just hired a maid.”

_***_

_“Oh don’t be so precious Jeyne! It’s only a bit of fun!” Myranda snapped._   
_“Why though? You don’t care about him! You could have any man here. Why him?” Jeyne wailed, wiping her tears away angrily._   
_“Because I’ve had all the men here, and I’m bored.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes as the other girl started to wail again. “Come on Jeyne.” Her voice was a little gentler now. She sat down on the bed beside her. “Honey, it never would have worked out. You’re dead. Deal with it.”_   
_“I know.” Jeyne sniffed. “It’s just…he looks…so much…so much like…”_   
_“So much like who?” Jeyne howled out her answer but it was incoherent._   
_“Pull yourself together for fuck sake!” Myranda snapped. Jeyne just cried harder. “Fine, stay here and bawl like a baby. I’ve got work to do.” Smirking, she left the weeping girl on Sansa’s bed and went into the ensuite bathroom, waiting until the mirror had steamed up before writing a nine on the glass._


	8. Catelyn

Catelyn came running when she heard Sansa screaming Arya’s name in rage.  
“What?!” Her younger daughter snapped back.  
“Stop it! I know it’s you just trying to freak me out.” Sansa cried.  
“I haven’t done anything you nutcase! I don’t even know what you’re yelling about.”  
“What is going on up here?” Cat barked, placing her hands on her hips. Sansa was clutching a towel she had hastily covered herself with. Droplets of water dotted the floor suggesting she hadn’t paused to dry herself off after her shower. Arya wasn’t even out of her school uniform yet; her headphones hung around her neck with heavy rock music still blasting out of them.  
“I know it was her but she won’t admit it!” Sansa’s voice was shrill and her eyes were wide and frightened. Whatever Arya had supposedly done, it had clearly upset her.  
“And what is it you think Arya has done?” Catelyn tried to remain calm and not appear to be taking sides.  
“She keeps sneaking in while I’m showering and writing a countdown on my mirror to freak me out!” Sansa babbled. “On Tuesday it was a ten, today it was a nine.”  
“I’ve never been in your fucking bathroom!” Arya yelled, balling her fists.  
“Arya, language!” Cat scolded.  
“Argh, you’ve got to be shitting me! I was still at school when you were in the shower on Tuesday you stupid.” Arya crossed her arms defiantly.  
“It had to be you…who…who else could it be?” Sansa gasped, her face pale.  
“Maybe it was a ghost. Or a serial killer. Or a serial killer ghost.” Arya mocked, knowing how that sort of thing freaked Sansa out.  
“Sweetheart, maybe you just imagined it.” Catelyn suggested before they could start arguing again.  
“I…yeah, I guess I must have.” Sansa offered a small, shaky smile and Cat immediately felt guilty. Sansa shouldn’t have to go along with a suggestion she didn’t believe in, but she had for her sake. All because she didn’t want her mother to worry. _It’s my job to worry_ Cat thought solemnly.  
“Sorry Arya. It was wrong of me to just assume it was you.” Sansa said miserably.  
“Thank you.” Arya replied bitterly, putting her headphones back on and heading upstairs before they could say another word to her.  
“I must be going mad.” Sansa forced a weak, unconvincing laugh. Cat smiled gently. “Do you want to come and help me decorate the lounge?”  
“No, it’s fine. Thanks. I’ll just do some homework.” Sansa muttered, heading back into her bedroom and leaving Catelyn on the landing, remembering the days when Sansa had wanted to help her with everything she did.

When it was time to start preparing dinner, Cat set about tidying the lounge a little. After pulling down the sheets that covered the curtains, she spotted a lone figure on the pavement.  
Theon was staring up at the same window he had been looking at the last time he was there. It was a little unsettling, but she couldn’t help but pity the boy. He looked like a lost child. Checking her watch, Catelyn concluded she had a few minutes spare; enough to see him safely home.  
“Robb, I’m just going out for a minute!” She called, grabbing her coat off the banister. There was no reply, but at least she could say she’d told him if he noticed her absence at all.  
Theon didn’t notice her at first and continued to stare up at the window. Catelyn couldn’t help but follow his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat when she thought she’d glimpsed a face at the window. But the light was thinning rapidly and she dismissed it as a trick of the gloom.  
“You’re going to die in there.” Theon repeated the same words with the same flat voice as he had when they’d first met. Catelyn shivered but refused to be perturbed by his behaviour. “It’s time for you to go home now Theon.” She said firmly.  
Theon ducked his head and flinched as though she had struck him.  
“Not Theon.” He sobbed. Cat reached a hand out to try and soothe him as she would one of her own children. “No!” He cried, leaping away from it as though her fingers were shards of glass. “You can’t! Don’t touch me. You don’t have permission. You _have_ to have permission. You have to know your _name_!” He babbled hysterically.  
“Calm down Theon, it’s alright.” Catelyn tried to sound gentle, despite her own rising panic. She couldn’t have him going back to Mr Bolton in this state. The man had been so nice to her and she’d hate to lose his trust by upsetting his son.  
“Not Theon, Reek. Reek! It rhymes with weak, meek, and shriek!” He yelled at her; eyes wild and twitching from her to the uppermost window.  
“Okay, okay. Let’s just calm down and get you home, alright?” Cat sighed with relief as all the panic seemed to drain from him and his shoulders slumped. After a while, they began to shake as sobs tore through him. Theon covered his face with his hands. “But I _am_ home.” He insisted.  
“You poor thing.” Cat muttered, tilting her head sympathetically. He must have got confused; all the houses looked the same around here. “You live in that house over there, with Mr Bolton, remember? This is where I live.” She explained it all slowly as she would if Rickon got confused.  
“I remember. You have to remember.” Theon’s voice was barely higher than a whisper now and he wiped his nose on his sleeve in a childlike manner.  
“Do you want me to walk you home?” She asked gently.  
“No…no thank you. I’ll be fine.” With one last, longing look at the house, Theon turned away; head hung low and shoulders sagging as though he had the weight of the world upon them. Catelyn watched him as he hobbled back to his own home, waiting for the stumbling figure to disappear inside before she did the same.  
Much to her surprise, she was met by the scent of garlic wafting from the kitchen. Perhaps Robb had forgotten she was going to cook dinner tonight?  
It wasn’t Robb. It definitely wasn’t Robb. Catelyn tried not to let her gaze linger on the hold-ups, but soon found that the rest of the maid’s outfit was no more appropriate. When Catelyn met the girl’s gaze and took in her face, she soon wished she hadn’t. She couldn’t help but blush when she recalled where she had seen that face before.  
“You must be Mrs Stark.” The girl smiled a wicked smile. “I’m Myranda, your new maid.”


	9. Arya

_“What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!”_   
_“Fuck off.” Damon growled._   
_“It is my lady, O, it is my love!”_   
_“Fuck. Off.” He growled again._   
_“Oh, that she knew she were!”_   
_“I said FUCK OFF!” Damon roared, shoving Ramsay away, only to have his hands slip through mid-air. Damon landed, face-down on the concrete, groaning as he sensed Ramsay reappear in front of him._   
_“From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life!” Myranda swept in dramatically._   
_“Nah that won’t work, one of them is already dead.” Ramsay laughed._   
_“Oh right, I forgot…oh wait, no…he forgot.” Myranda giggled. Damon raised his head and looked up at them. “Leave me alone.” He muttered miserably._   
_“Do you bite your thumb at us sir?” Ramsay boomed with a voice fit for the stage. Grinning, he walked away from Damon and slumped onto a chair, hooking a leg over the arm nonchalantly._   
_“Argh…you’re such a…” Damon’s voice trailed off as he searched for a decent insult._   
_“Such a what? Such a fucking what?”_   
_“Dick.” He spat, spurring on more laughter. “Where did you learn Shakespeare anyway? Never seen you whiling away the hours learning lines from Romeo and Juliet.”_   
_“If it’s to piss you off Damon then I go all out.” Ramsay grinned._   
_“Hmph.” He grunted, standing up and slumping back onto a box in the corner. “Would have thought you more of a Hamlet sort of guy. You know, with the whole ‘family issues’ thing.” Damon managed a grin as Ramsay’s face clouded over. “And you’re more of a Macbeth kind of girl.” He shot at Myranda. “Though whether you’re crazy Lady Macbeth or one of the three witches, I can’t quite tell.” Damon was too quick and was out of the way before she could claw at him._   
_“Glad to see your sense of humour is still intact despite your bullet-filled, broken heart.” Ramsay snorted._   
_“There aren’t any bullets in it and it’s not broken.” He insisted, almost childishly, kicking at the ground._   
_“You probably shouldn’t have introduced her to Reek on the first date.” Ramsay chuckled darkly, making both Damon and Myranda fall quiet for a moment._   
_“Don’t talk about him so loudly. He might hear you.” Myranda muttered, eyeing the darker corners of the basement._   
_“So?” Ramsay shrugged. Myranda was too scared of looking afraid to say any more. “Look man, the whole ‘Twilight’ phase is over.”_   
_“Thank fuck for that.” Myranda huffed._   
_“Agreed…my point is that girls are no longer into the whole ‘dead boyfriend’ thing.” He smiled a charming, mock-pitiful smile._   
_“Not that anyone would date you if you were alive. I mean, maybe that Lana Del Ray seeing as she’s into the whole vintage, mopey depression thing but- OW!” Myranda yelped as Damon punched her in the stab wound. “That tickles!”_   
_“So what are you going to do?” Ramsay asked, chuckling but making no effort to go and help her. Damon turned around to face him, his expression a fusion of angry desperation. “Whatever it fucking takes.”_

_***_

After what happened in the basement, things at school were different. Though Arya wasn’t entirely sure if it was for the better. She wasn’t being bullied any more, but that was because Hot Pie was in hospital, suffering from PTSD. Lommy was too scared to even look at her. Even her ‘friends’ grew even quieter when she was around.  
If school was lonely, home was lonelier. Robb was always busy these days trying to find a job with any of the local law firms. Her mother, she suspected, was avoiding her. Sansa had been acting strange. Following her accusations about the number writing on her mirror, her sister had been oddly jumpy and spent most of the time alone in her room. With Jeyne around, Sansa was needed to help out less and less. Rickon and Bran seemed to be the only ones vaguely happy; spending every minute they could playing with Jeyne. Sometimes Arya wished she could join in. It would be fun to be a kid again. But it would be stupid. Playing games was for children. So she stayed in her room, listening to music and watching horror films, only leaving when it was time for school, meal times, or if she wanted a fag. Arya never went to the basement. She convinced herself that it wasn’t that she was _afraid_ of going down there, she just didn’t _want_ to.  
She hadn’t seen Damon around either, and sort of found herself missing his company. He had been a laugh to hang around with and they’d had a lot in common. Arya realised after a while that he was the closest thing to a friend she’d had since they’d moved here. But down in the basement when they’d played the prank on Hot Pie, he became a different person. Bordering on mad. What if that was what he was really like? People could have many faces. How could she tell who Damon really was? She hardly knew anything about him. He’d just turned up on her lawn one day. He could be a homicidal maniac for all she knew! Then there was the…the thing that had attacked Hot Pie. She had been so sure that Damon was stood behind her, but she must have been wrong. It must have been Damon in a mask. It _had_ to be him. It was the only reasonable explanation.  
_“Do you believe in ghosts?”_  
Before Arya could dwell on Damon’s ridiculous question any further, there was a knock at her bedroom door. “Come in.” She called, unsure exactly who it was. To her surprise, it was Jeyne who peered around the door, smiling sweetly. Arya sat up on her bed, abandoning the copy of Lord of the Flies she had been attempting to read. “Good afternoon Arya. I hope I’m not disturbing you?” She asked pleasantly.  
“It’s fine, come in.” Arya replied, not getting up from her bed. Jeyne smiled gratefully and stepped inside, looking around. “I like what you’ve done with your room.” She said in a tone that implied she was lying.  
“Thanks.” Arya snorted. There was no way Jeyne actually liked the band and film posters on her walls, but she did well to feign interest all the same. “I just wanted to speak with you about something.” Jeyne turned to her, clasping her hands together anxiously.  
“Are Rickon and Bran okay?” Arya asked, suddenly concerned.  
“Yes, yes…sorry, they’re fine. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Jeyne chuckled awkwardly and Arya felt the need to laugh with her. “Damon misses you.” She confessed.  
“You know Damon?” Arya frowned. The town they lived in was small, but Arya couldn’t see Damon and Jeyne knowing each other that well.  
“Yes. I…we grew up together.” Jeyne moved forward a few steps. “He told me what happened. I understand why you reacted the way you did, he can be rather…odd, at times. I just hope you could find it in your heart to give him a chance?” She said with an earnest that made Arya smile. Jeyne clearly cared about him very much.  
“So he’s not a mass murderer then?”  
“What? No! No…definitely not.” Jeyne laughed half-heartedly.   
Arya fell quiet for a moment. If Jeyne knew Damon and trusted him, then clearly he wasn’t a complete psycho. He could be rather odd at times, that was all. Sansa had always called her odd, and it was true she wasn’t like other girls her age. Perhaps being different was just another thing she and Damon had in common.  
“Fine.” Arya sighed, making Jeyne smile brightly. “Next time I see him, I’ll give him a chance to explain himself.”   
“Right. Wonderful! Thank you, Arya. I hope you can…I think you might do him some good.”  
Before Arya could ask her what she meant, Jeyne fled from the room, leaving Arya to go back to reading Lord of the Flies. It all seemed a little clearer to her now.


End file.
